


Not What It Appears

by woodelf



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodelf/pseuds/woodelf
Summary: Rush and Young find themselves together in bed with no idea how they got there.  Already having sex. In a strange room with no doors.
Relationships: Nicholas Rush/Everett Young
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	Not What It Appears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Potboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potboy/gifts).



> My attempt at writing Rush/Young for a birthday fic four years ago.

Rush groaned with pleasure, his head falling back in abandon as Young’s hand encompassed his cock, sliding up and down in a swift, sure rhythm…

_What?_ His eyes flew open, shock written large in their depths, and he would have jerked away backwards except for, well, Young’s hand on his cock.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, horrified by the fact that Young was as naked as he was. As aroused as he was. Why the hell was he _aroused_?

“What do you mean?” Young lifted lazy, hooded eyes to him, and then as suddenly as Rush had, he seemed to become aware of what he was doing, whom he was with. He let go of Rush like a hot potato.

“Jesus! Rush! I…What are you doing in my room?”

“Your room! What are you doing in my –” His voice faltered as he looked around, and realised it was not his room. Nor did it seem to be an actual room, at least not a normal one. The bed they were in was clear and solid enough beneath them, but the rest of the room was indistinct, out-of-focus. Young obviously noticed the same thing, because he rolled out of bed and padded towards the wall where the door should have been, unself

conscious in his nudity. Rush noted that his usual uniform disguised the actual shape of Young’s body; he’d expected the broad shoulders, but not the way they tapered down to narrow hips and a tight arse. Which he wasn’t looking at. Shite. Rush raised his eyes and found himself studying the groove of Young’s spine instead.

The door wasn’t there. Young ran his hand over the walls as he moved around the perimeter of the room in his usual slow, methodical way, as if his hand could find the thing that his eyes were not seeing.

“There’s no door, is there?” Rush fought back the panic he could hear rising in his own voice. 

Young couldn’t blame him, as his mind tried to wrap itself around the surreal situation. Feeling rather uncomfortable with the fact that his erection didn’t show any signs of diminishing, he looked around for something else.

“There are no clothes, either,” he reported flatly.

Rush squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re dreaming. We have to be. One of us is dreaming.” That was the only explanation.

“Well it’s not me,” Young retorted. A treacherous part at the back of his mind noted that Rush was still hard, too, and that Rush's slight frame obviously had nothing to do with the size of certain other body parts.

“It’s no’ me either!” Rush exclaimed, his accent growing thicker in his vehemence. He, too, glanced down at himself, and tugged the sheet up to cover his lap. “Unless I’m having a nightmare. Although it’d be a very unusual nightmare,” he admitted.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s very weird, but it’s hardly the stuff of nightmares. It’s more like…the sort of weird dream you get when you’re drunk, or stoned.”

“I haven’t been near Brody’s still in days,” Rush reported.

“Me neither.” Young thought. “Do you think…do you think that we could be in someone else’s dream?”

Somehow that seemed even worse.

“But whose, though?”

“We could ask Brody who was drinking last night,” Young suggested.

“If it was more than one person, do you want to be looking at them all and wondering who was dreaming about us naked?” Rush demanded. “I’d rather not know. Hell, what am I even saying? This isn’t us. Our real selves won’t remember this dream.”

“It feels like me, though. This is very weird.” Young repeated his earlier summation of events and sat back down on the bed, copying Rush and tugging a blanket over his lap. “So what do we do, just sit here and wait for whoever’s dreaming to wake up?”

“What else can we do?”

They sat in awkward silence for several minutes.

“They say that a few seconds in real life can feel like hours in a dream,” Young observed.

“That does not make me feel better.” Rush glared at him. “Maybe we should try to fall asleep.”

“We could. Or, I was thinking, what if the dream won’t end until we finished what we were doing before?” Young asked hesitantly. The look on Rush’s face was almost comical.

“I’m not having sex with you!”

“What if…what if we just jerked each other off? That wouldn’t be too bad, would it? Because, you know, I’m getting kind of uncomfortable, if you know what I mean.” Young’s cheeks reddened slightly as he made an almost imperceptible gesture towards his crotch.

“Ah. Um, yes. Maybe we could just take care of ourselves?” Rush suggested desperately. Now that Young had suggested it, the urge to take himself in hand was like an ever-increasing itch. Although to be fair, Young’s hand had felt rather nice as well. Oh shit, what was he thinking?

“For some reason I’d rather touch you.” The blush on Young’s cheeks was definite now. “Not for real, of course, because this isn’t really me. So there’s no reason we shouldn’t, is there? Because this isn’t real. So why shouldn’t we get some pleasure out of it until the dream ends?”

Rush stared at him for a long minute, then pushed the sheet away from himself, glancing down at his unflagging erection. It obviously wasn’t going to go away by itself, and he automatically wrapped a hand around himself and gave himself a slow, delicious pull. But he couldn’t forget the feel of Young’s large hand wrapped around his cock, the added pleasure that came from not knowing exactly what that hand was going to do. “All right. Probably the quickest way to get the dream to end. Go on, then.” He pulled his sheet away and met Young’s eyes challengingly. 

Young gave him an incredulous look. “So you’re just going to lie back and enjoy yourself while I do all the work?” he demanded, his blanket falling away as he shifted up onto his knees besides Rush.

Rush eyed Young’s cock consideringly, lifting up stiff and thick from between his legs. There was nothing objectionable about it. If Young wasn’t bothered by doing this, then why should he be? He wondered how fast he could get Young to come – or how slowly. The image of Young desperate and begging him for release held some appeal, and he smiled wolfishly. “I’ll do you after.”

“Fair enough,” allowed Young, reaching for him.

Rush had to force himself not to flinch away, but as one of Young’s hands gathered his balls and the other slid up his cock again, his head fell back and he instantly canted his hips upward into Young’s fist, a small breathless moan escaping his throat.

“Good?” queried Young with a smile.

“Fuck, yes,” Rush admitted. “Have you ever done this before?”

“What – you mean jerk someone else off? Are you asking dream me?” Young asked, amused. “That answer would totally depend on what our dreamer imagines.”

“Ah, good point. Well, what does our dreamer think?”

Young’s hand slowed as he thought. “College. With a buddy. Some alcohol was involved. You?”

Rush shook his head. “No. I was too busy studying and working. Any spare time was for eating and sleeping. And not nearly enough of that.”

“I know about the studying,” Young agreed. “I’ve never been a quick learner. But I do get there in the end.”

Rush looked at him, thinking. Yes, he thought, that fit in with some of Young’s actions. A need to think about something before deciding what to do about it, and then being firm in that decision. His thoughts scattered as Young concentrated on the head of his cock for a minute, and he grunted with approval. 

“Tell me if there’s something you like that I’m not doing,” Young said. “I’m not used to having a foreskin to play with.” He tugged it down, stretched it, watched the swollen head appear to push past it again as he let go. 

“No complaints so far.” Rush’s breathing was roughening, his body undulating beneath Young’s ministrations. “Play all you like. And there’s probably a clue to our dreamer’s identity in there.”

“So not even going there,” Young said matter-of factly. “Especially since if we’re a figment of somebody’s imagination – and that is not getting any less weird, because I still feel like me – we won’t remember this. Are we sure it’s not one of us dreaming this?”

“What’s pi to the tenth decimal?” asked Rush.

“How the hell should I know?” Young retorted. 

“Well, it’s not me dreaming it then, because you’d have my knowledge. Ask me something that you would know and I wouldn’t.”

“The name of the street I grew up on?” hazarded Young.

Rush looked blank for a moment, then shook his head. “Not a clue, not for you or for me. So I’d say a third party dreamer, definitely. Do _you_ know the name of the street you grew up on?”

Young opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Um, no. Okay, not sure if logic works in a dream, but I’ll go with your theory. So maybe this doesn’t really feel like me, and I just think it does? Maybe this is just how our dreamer imagines me, and I’m nothing like this.”

Rush winced. “Don’t think about it. You’re making it worse. For what it’s worth, you seem like you, except for the more pleasant personality and being willing to do this.” He gestured.

“‘More pleasant personality’, is it?” Young’s eyebrows went up, and he tightened his hand around the balls he’d been lightly cupping and rolling in his palm, hard enough to see the burgeoning alarm in Rush’s eyes. “Are you really going to bait me? _Now_?”

“I was joking!” Rush exclaimed hastily, and let out his breath in relief as Young eased his grip.

“Jeez, Rush, do you ever think about what you’re going to say first?” Amusement laced his voice. “You’re a piece of work, do you know that?”

“So you’ve told me,” Rush said wryly, liking the laugh lines that had crinkled up around Young’s eyes.

Young shook his head, briefly letting go of Rush and watching his cock stay flush against his belly. He lightly ran the palm of his hand up the underside, from balls to tip, sweeping his eyes up over Rush’s neat, compact form, all that lean, fiery energy stilled for the moment in a lazy sprawl, one knee drawn up and the leg fallen outward, opening himself up, trusting himself to Young. He liked this version of Rush, liked seeing him looking like the cat who had gotten the cream instead of overworked and tired and irritable most of the time. He liked being the one who was putting that look on Rush’s face. He took him in hand again, liking the easy way the foreskin glided over the flesh beneath, stroking slow and steady, pausing to press his thumb firmly in that spot right below the glans and watching a pearly drop of fluid bead out at the slit. He smeared it across the sculpted head, then impulsively bent forward, lowering his head, and dragged his tongue over the soft, smooth skin, tasting salt and musk, before widening his lips and sucking Rush into his mouth. He felt Rush jolt upright and a hand fist in his hair, knowing at once that he wasn’t going to try for more than the head, and gaining a new appreciation for everyone who had ever given him a blow job in the past. After several seconds in which he tried to suck and lick at the same time, he pulled back, careful of his teeth, and straightened to see Rush staring at him with wide, blown eyes. “I was curious,” he said simply.

Unable to find his voice, Rush managed a nod, and forced his fingers to let go of Young’s curls.

“Okay?” asked Young hesitantly.

Rush cleared his throat. “Yeah. Very okay.”

Young smiled at Rush’s evident discomfiture and glanced down, realising that Rush sitting up had brought their cocks into close proximity, his own twitching spasmodically, starved for attention. He reached down and squeezed himself, trying to assuage the ache, and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of a small bottle on the bedside table. He released himself and stretched out over Rush to reach for it.

“What…” Rush’s eyes narrowed as he watched Young pour out a small amount of lube into his hand. “Well, isn’t that thoughtful of our dreamer.”

“Hey, I appreciate it,” Young said pragmatically, slicking his hand down his cock with a small hum of pleasure. He looked down at their cocks again, so very close together, and didn’t question his next action. He twisted his hand, caught at Rush’s hard, curving length, brought it up against his own, heard Rush’s breath catch. He wrapped his hand around both shafts as much as he was able, and started to pump.

“Oh _fuck_.” Rush swore as white hot arousal jolted through him.

Young didn’t have to ask if it felt good. “Lie back down,” he urged, letting go briefly to push at Rush’s shoulder and following him down, stretching out on his side, propped up on one elbow and with one leg drawn up. Rush mirrored his position, pushing his cock up against Young’s without any hesitation and feeling it swell even further as Young wrapped his slick hand around both of them again. Although of a stockier build, Young was only a few inches taller than Rush and their bodies aligned fairly well, their foreheads nearly touching as Rush looked down, watching in fascination as Young resumed pumping, fast jerks up and down the entire lengths of their shafts, pausing every now and again near the top as if to give Rush a good sight of the two flushed heads nestled together before sweeping his thumb over the tips and stroking back down again. Rush felt the heat and pressure building, and knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer. He hooked his leg over Young’s and pulled them closer together, grabbing onto Young’s shoulder for support as he began thrusting, Young stilling his hand to let him set his own pace. Frantically Rush rutted against him, their cocks trapped between their bellies, rubbing and sliding together, everything hot and slippery and breathless, his balls tightening almost painfully as the pleasure spread up through his cock into his entire body and he came in an intense burst of ecstasy. He didn’t move for a moment, savouring the all-too-brief sensation, his hips giving one last jerk as Young stroked and squeezed and milked the last drops of his seed from him. The tension suddenly ebbed from his body and he pulled away, sweaty and panting, to collapse back limply against the pillows, closing his eyes as a delicious languor stole over him. 

When he finally opened them again, Young was sitting next to him, looking smug, and had cleaned himself up with the edge of the sheet. Catching Rush’s eyes on him, he pointedly stroked down the length of his swollen cock and gave Rush a challenging look.

“Ready to do some work, lazybutt?” he asked.

“You are not going to know up from down by the time I’m done, Colonel,” Rush promised, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. He pushed himself away from the pillows, sitting up, feeling lazy and sated yet determined to make Young beg for it before he was done. “Go on, lie down.” 

Young slithered down the pile of pillows he had shoved behind his back, keeping his upper body elevated enough that he could watch whatever Rush was going to do. 

Where Young had been direct, getting right down to business, Rush teased. He ran his fingers lightly up the underside of Young’s cock, hearing the instant catch in Young’s breathing, saw the slight jerk of his hips. Over the top, back down, gliding up through his curls to his belly, feeling the muscles tighten and quiver beneath his fingertips. He moved outward, tracing lazily over the line of Young’s hipbones, back down over his flanks.

“Rush!” Young reached out for his wrist, tried to guide him back to where he wanted, but Rush shook his head, tossing his hair back out of his eyes, and sat back on his heels, his weight resting against Young’s thighs.

“Uh-uh. I do this at my pace or I don’t do this at all.” He grinned as Young glared at him. “I’m very thorough in my work, you know that.” He glanced around, and found the bottle of lube amidst the tangled sheet and blanket. Flipping the cap up, he held Young’s cock steady and drizzled some of the slippery liquid directly onto it, before wrapping his hand around the shaft. He started with a few slow strokes, getting a feel for the cock in his hand, watching Young’s eyes flutter half-shut in pleasure. The main difference was that he was coming at this from a different angle than usual, he decided. What felt good to him would probably feel good to Young. 

“Like that, Colonel?” he asked, “Or like _this_?” He began snapping his wrist in short, fast jerks, almost instantly pulling a moan out of the other man. 

“Oh god, _yes_. Like that.” Young rocked his hips shamelessly up into each downward stroke of Rush’s fist, squeezing his eyes shut and his mouth falling open as his breathing quickly grew heavier. 

Rush gave him what he wanted for a minute, then let go and sat back, waiting for the protest with amusement. Young’s eyes snapped open at once, piercing him with a glare.

“That’s better. Watch me, Colonel.” He took hold of Young’s bobbing cock again giving it several long, firm pulls, then paused again, splaying his hand wide, maintaining only the lightest of contact to keep Young’s cock lying flat against his belly. He resumed his rhythm before Young could protest, then stopped again. A few seconds longer this time, resuming just as he saw the hazel depths of Young’s eyes darken. Stop. Go. Stop again, keeping the number of seconds for each pause varying, preventing Young from getting used to a pattern.

“Rush!” Young’s hands were fisted in the sheet, his hips twisting in supplication.

“Yes?” Rush leaned forward a little, blew a stream of air across the head of Young’s cock, and watched it twitch.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Look at you,” Rush said softly, pushing the erect cock to one side and watching it spring up again. “So straight and upright, like a good little soldier.” He delicately put his thumbs against the underside of the head, pressing and massaging gently. Young whimpered, his hips jerking helplessly.

“Are you close?” Rush asked. He could see that Young was, in his sweating, flushed body, the way his balls had drawn up tight to either side of his cock.

“Yes!”

Rush gave a feral grin. “Ask for it.” He ran his hands over the taut globes.

Young glared. “Don’t be a fucking cocktease.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Rush promised, moving up and feeling Young’s cock brush against his belly, the way Young arched into the contact. He leaned forward on one hand, used the other to smooth up over the swell of Young’s chest, dragging against a nipple. His hair swung forward into his face as he met Young’s gaze. “Ask for it.”

Young stared back, mutinous, but whatever he saw in Rush’s eyes told him that the other man needed this, for abruptly his face softened. He reached up, brushing back the silken softness of Rush’s hair. “Please,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Rush swallowed hard, and shifted back at once. Having been given his small moment of power, he did not abuse it. Young cried out as suddenly there was no more teasing, nothing but Rush’s hand tight and hot around him, stroking swift and sure and urging, pulling his climax out of him in pulsing liquid bursts of ecstasy as he went over the edge with a roar, his hips bucking up as Rush kept stroking, squeezing, pulling it all out of him until Young sagged back to the mattress, lifting a hand weakly to push him away. Rush followed him down, flopping onto the pillows, summoning the strength to rake his hair back away from his face again with a yawn. Frowning at the stickiness of his hand, he experimentally tried imagining a washcloth there, and nearly jumped when he felt the damp weight of it appear in his hand. Feeling rather like a dog who has learned a new trick, he cleaned himself up, then turned his attention to Young.

“Where did that come from?” Young asked drowsily, surprised as Rush wiped the rough cloth over his body.

“Imagined it,” Rush said smugly. “And thought it would be nice to have.”

“Well, damn.” Young looked interested. “We should have imagined our clothes.”

“Not sure that would have been as successful,” Rush remarked dryly, tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand and pulling the sheet up to cover them both. He closed his eyes, feeling pleasantly tired and spent and comfortable. He felt Young shifting next to him, and then the movements stilled again as Young settled down. 

“Rush?”

“Hmm?”

“Not even remotely a nightmare.”

“No,” Rush agreed. “Wet dream, more like.”

Young snorted, and saw Rush’s mouth curve into a smile. “So…g’night, then?”

“What can I say? You wore me out. That should be good for your ego.”

“What if we’re still here when we wake up?” Young asked hesitantly.

“Then we deal with it then,” said Rush firmly, not even opening his eyes. “Go to sleep.” 

Feeling oddly comforted by Rush’s apparent lack of concern, even if it wasn’t really the real Rush, Young closed his eyes, letting himself relax. Which brought him round again to the probably fact that this wasn’t the real him, either. Which was rather a shame, because that had been the hottest sex he’d had in a long time, even if had only been a dream, and he wouldn’t remember any of it. His last rueful thought before falling asleep was that he hoped their dreamer had enjoyed it. 

A moment later, their dreamer woke, and smiled.


End file.
